


Morning Glory

by oddegg



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Comic, M/M, Porn, Rimming, if charles will steal erik's clothes this is what he gets, neither one thing or the other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:10:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddegg/pseuds/oddegg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a id="cutid1" name="cutid1"></a><a href="http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/2439.html?thread=2355591#t2410631">xmen-firstkink</a> prompt: Charles wearing nothing but one of Erik's dress shirts, where the length of it <em>just</em> covers his ass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Glory

Erik dislikes mornings and always has. It’s one of the many things – ideologies, the correct way to train the children and whether that should include pushing them off high places, the deliciousness of sauerkraut – which he and Charles disagree on.

Charles is, unfortunately, horrendously perky, enthusiastic and _awake_ in the morning. Bouncing out of bed and into action without the aid of the things like long, reviving showers and coffee brewed strong enough to hold up a spoon that any _normal_ person deems necessary before full functionality.

Charles is also almost certainly the reason that Erik is currently being subjected to hideous beams of morning light hitting his closed eyelids and forcing him awake, and however pleasant Erik had found his enthusiasm last night (which was very, **very** pleasant – enthusiasm when applied to cocksucking is something he approves of), this morning it was an irritation.

He grumbles, shoves his face into the pillow and then, when that doesn’t work and the nasty daylight _still hasn’t gone away_ , he pushes himself up on his elbows and scowls through squinted lids out at the room.

“ **Charles!** ”

Charles turns round from where he’s stood looking out the window and says brightly “Good morning, Erik! It’s a beautiful day!” then, more contritely “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

And Erik’s usual response would be “Yes, you bloody well did.” but he’s got a good look at Charles now and _großer Gott!_ – Charles is wearing nothing but a shirt that Erik dimly recognises as one of his own. Carelessly buttoned in front, the sleeves of it brush down over Charles’ knuckles and the tails… the shirt tails only _just_ cover up Charles’ own ‘tail’ at the back.

So in the face of that, Erik’s response is actually a husky, rather breathless repetition of his first exclamation.

“ _Charles_ …”

Charles blinks, a little confused and says “Yes…?” but he is, quite frankly, lucky Erik can form vowel sounds at the moment; he’s definitely not getting any more coherent speech out of him right now.

But actions, Erik has always found, speak louder than words, and so he throws off the covers and swings himself up and out of bed, stalking over to Charles with a gleam in his eye.

He catches hold of Charles’ hips and pushes him back against the window, ignores his gasp of “ _Erik!_ ” and moves his hands round to grab a firm hold of Charles’ arse, swoops down to ravish that taunting red mouth and swallow any more words that Charles tries to make.

Charles doesn’t seem to have that much to say though, not unless you count moans as an attempt at communication. He flings his arms around Erik’s neck and squirms in his grasp and actually – strike that; the needy little whining noises Charles is making in the depth of his throat are communicating his desires to Erik quite adequately.

Erik can feel the cloth of his _stolen_ shirt brush against the backs of his hands as he clutches and squeezes that gorgeous little backside and recalling what Charles was wearing – _all_ that Charles was wearing – makes him give a loud groan of his own and suddenly he knows _exactly_ what he wants.

He breaks off and, ignoring the incoherent “ _Whu?_ ” of protest, he spins Charles round to face the window and drops down onto his knees.

Erik shoves the tails of the shirt up to the small of Charles’ back and pushes him forward with the same movement, grips the sweet round cheeks to spread them apart. He gives himself a few long seconds to drink in the sight of Charles splayed out like this before giving in to his own craving and leaning in to lick a long, lazy trail over the exposed pucker of Charles’ arse.

Charles gives a broken off shout and cries “Erik! Oh god, _Erik_ …” above him but Erik ignores that, and the sound of Charles’ hands scrabbling against the window panes for purchase and instead gives himself over completely to what he’s doing.

 _Scheiße!_ He loves doing this! Licking all around and getting Charles as wet as any girl and then pressing in with his tongue, delving in deeper and giving tiny little nips to the skin that’s puffing up and reddening from the scratch of Erik’s morning stubble.

His hands are holding onto Charles’ hips so tightly they’ve got to be leaving bruises now and Erik groans inwardly at the thought of that, of marking Charles up and making him _his_ while at the same time he’s chasing every trace of the musky, dark taste that Charles has here and lapping it up and taking it in. Charles is making torn, sobbing noises above him now and babbling over and over “ _Please, please – oh god, more! **More** , Erik, pleeease_…” and Erik makes a point of the tip of his tongue and stabs it in as deep as he can while he reaches one hand round to take hold of Charles’ cock and thrusts the other down between his own legs to wrap around his own straining erection, starting to stroke both with the same rhythm.

The clamour of all the different sensations at once makes him moan out loud and the vibration of that is what sends Charles over the edge, his hole clenching down on Erik’s tongue and his cock stiffening and spurting into his fist; shuddering and quaking above him, his high cry containing no understandable sounds in it at all.

And Erik barely lasts five seconds longer after feeling all of that, and all it takes is two sharp twists of his wrist before he’s crying out himself, coming in long, thick spurts onto the carpet and burrowing his face into Charles’ arse one last time as he does.

It takes him a moment to gather his wits back up, and then Erik collapses back onto his heels and watches as Charles turns around, stumbling on shaky legs as he does and ending propped up against the wall like it’s the only thing holding him up.

Charles is looking… well. Charles is looking _far_ less orderly and lucid than he usually is in the mornings. He looks rumpled and dazed and punch drunk. He looks _utterly_ shagged out and _totally_ well fucked.

He looks _delicious_.

Erik licks his lips and watches with delight the stupefied way Charles follows the movement. He smirks up at him and says “You know, Charles? You in my shirt isn’t a bad sight to wake up to in the morning…”


End file.
